Sabaku no Harry (Harry of the Sand Waterfall)
by Meer-Heika
Summary: Voldemort learns the entire prophecy and turns it in his favor: if no one can kill him except Harry, what better path to immortality than to send the boy away? Five-year-old Harry awakens in a vast desert. How will he survive? Chapter 3 up: Gaara brings Harry to the hospital in Hidden Sand Village. The prognosis is not good.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Sabaku no Harry (Harry of the Sand Waterfall)**

**Author:** Meer-heika

**Category:** drama

**Rating:** T+ for future war/violence

**Summary: **Voldemort learns the entire prophecy and turns it in his favor: if no one can kill him except Harry and vice versa, what better path to immortality than to send the boy away? Five-year-old Harry awakens in a vast desert. How will he survive?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any recognizable characters or settings from either the HP-verse or Naruto-verse.

**A/N #1:** I'm not abandoning my Harry Potter/Bleach story, "Reign Over the Frosted Heavens," but I have been writing it to the exclusion of all other fanfics for over two years. This HP/Naruto Shippuden x-over will allow me to continue writing and posting even when a chapter of RotFH gives me problems. And vice versa.

**A/N #2:** Gaara is my favorite character after Naruto, though Minato runs a very close third. I've read many, many fics where chibi-Harry meets Naruto, chibi-Naruto meets Harry, shinobi go to Hogwarts, Harry goes to Konoha, and dozens of similar combinations. For the most part, they're all Harry interacting with various members of the Leaf Village, past and present. I've never seen one where _Gaara_ and Harry are the primary focus. Hopefully, you'll enjoy this less trodden crossover path. I'll still bring in Naruto, Kakashi, etc., but it will be primarily a Gaara-and-Harry-centric story.

**A/N #3:** As was the case when I began my HP/Bleach fic, I'm posting the first chapter when I am only a few months into the Naruto fandom, so there are bound to be errors and inconsistencies. Constructive corrections and recommendations are welcome. Flames will warm my apartment instead of a space heater.

**Chapter 1**

Such a little thing to cause such chaos. The lightest brush-stroke, no longer than a fingernail and created with human blood, angled ten degrees too far to the left. Unnoticeable to any but an expert in ancient runes, which the Dark Lord was not. It was enough to change the entire sequence in ways no one could have predicted.

In both truth and fiction, the small details spoilt a megalomaniac's otherwise carefully crafted plan.

Finding the Potters took no effort whatsoever, given their secret keeper was a Death Eater. Peter Pettigrew wasn't exactly loyal, but he was a useful spy, particularly after his enemies made the colossal mistake of entrusting the hidden traitor with their most precious secret. Voldemort had learned the Potters' location within 24 hours and kept a careful eye on the place ever since. The cottage in Godric's Hollow was quaint, rustic, bucolic, pastoral—any of a dozen adjectives to describe a sickeningly sweet setting. He could strike at any time. Instead, he waited.

Voldemort had a plan. The precise timetable of events could not be rushed. And to think: one meeting with his loyal follower from the Department of Mysteries had changed everything.

_Felton Garreth knelt on the plush griffin-fur rug at his master's feet and bowed his head almost to the ground. "I have the information you requested, my lord."_

_Silhouetted by sunlight, his angular features cast in dramatic shadow, black robes billowing in the Autumn breeze through the open window, the dark wizard turned away from the view that overlooked the rolling, manicured lawns of Hydak Manor. The unplottable and heavily warded property belonged to Jacob Hydak—a pureblood member of the Wizengamot who was vulnerable to blackmail due to his disgusting perversions toward Muggle children._

_It made the perfect base of operations. After all, who would expect to find a dark lord living large in a home belonging to a senior member of the British wizarding world's legislative body?_

_Never let it be said that Voldemort didn't know how to set a stage, or take advantage of every opportunity._

_Darkly handsome. Compelling. Hypnotic. Charismatic. All terms that often described the man once known as Tom Marvolo Riddle. That name, however, was long forgotten, even by himself. Today, all knew and feared him as Voldemort, the Dark Lord._

_"Tell me."_

_"My lord," the squat, balding man in brown robes replied, "what you ask is theoretically possible, but it would require more combined magical power than we have in our entire ranks...even...please forgive me...including yourself."_

_Voldemort's hand drew his wand from its forearm holster and aimed it at the man. His voice was a lethal whisper. "Then what possible use is your research to me?"_

_Garreth trembled, both body and voice, and hurried to the one piece of news that might save his life. "Lord, there is a way."_

_The wand remained poised, but Voldemort held off casting the curse. "I'm listening."_

_"For hundreds of years, the Department has been researching the source of magical power. I've sworn an Unbreakable Vow to not reveal specific information to anyone. However, that doesn't stop me from performing my own experiments into ways to harness that power. If my lord will allow me, I will make all of the arrangements."_

_"How long will it take?"_

_"There is a place...from...the records...ung..." Garreth grimaced, his back bowed in pain, evidence of how close he skated to the edge of his vow. "The...the power fluctuates and is currently at its lowest ebb. It's projected to peak again in August of 1985. This will be the best time for you to strike."_

_Voldemort scowled. "I must wait five years to banish one small child?"_

_"Performing the ritual at that time will ensure success, my lord Voldemort. It could be done sooner, but the odds of success would be...less predictable."_

_Voldemort kept the man waiting until sweat puddled beneath Garreth and the man's entire body shuddered from the strain of both fear and his kneeling position. Once Voldemort was certain he'd instilled the proper respect into his agent, he slid his wand back into its holster and straightened his sleeves._

_"Very well. Do whatever is necessary. In the meantime, I will decide how best to use the time between."_

()()()()

James Potter sat on a bench in a vine-draped gazebo near the back entrance to Potter Cottage in Godric's Hollow, his wife Lily beside him. In a padded, high-backed chair created by magic to match his own personal comfort, Albus Dumbledore met their gaze with that damnable twinkle in his eyes. The arbor ceiling provided a welcome shade against the warmth of the August afternoon.

"Albus, we've been locked in this place for over four years," James said, finger-combing his unruly black hair in agitation. "Harry turned five years old two weeks ago."

Lily added, "If the Dark Lord meant to come after us, he'd have done so by now."

"Possibly," the elder wizard ceded the point, "but we can't guarantee that. He and his followers killed the entire Longbottom family before they could go under the Fidelius as you did. This was before his raid on the Hall of Prophecy. There can be no doubt, he _knows_ that Harry is destined to defeat him. He has made no serious bids to assume power over all wizarding Britain, but he hasn't been idle, either, striking somewhere at least once or twice a week. If he were to learn your location, that all might change. We cannot risk you returning to the wizarding world before Harry is ready."

"This life is killing us, Albus," James persisted. "The same thing, day after day. The monotony never ends. We can't visit friends. They can't visit us. We can't work or shop because no one can see us unless Peter reveals the truth to them. And the more people who know, the greater the risk. We've tried taking walks through the village just to escape these four walls for a little while, but it's the strangest feeling when no one sees or hears you. Or when you accidentally bump into someone, they look around like they've been hit by a ghost."

He pointed to the trio of greenhouses and four segregated food and herb gardens scattered around the back of the property. "Except what we can grow or transfigure for ourselves, we're dependent upon you and the Hogwarts house elves for food, clothing, entertainment, everything. If this is living, we might as well _be_ ghosts!"

Lily turned her eyes to her five-year-old son. Harry, a chibi version of his father, played and laughed quite happily with the crup pup he'd received for his birthday. "Harry can't have playmates, either wizarding or muggle. All he knows is us—his parents and you, his teacher—and a few random faces that show up from time to time. Sirius can't visit often without leading the Dark Lord's spies to the town. Neither can Peter and Remus."

"He has his pet—"

"A pet alone will only satisfy him for so long," Lily cut him off, "and he can only train so many hours in a day. He needs human interaction if he's to learn the social skills that are vital to dealing with other people. You can't expect him to become the hero you need to save the wizarding world if he has no connections or feelings for that world."

"I do see your points, truly I do, and every one of them is quite valid," Dumbledore said, eye-twinkle lost in a shadow of irritation and unease. The elderly wizard rose from his chair and paced from one side of the gazebo to the other. Shoulders slumped under a tremendous weight of responsibility, he rubbed his wrinkled forehead and sighed. "In the beginning, I thought I knew precisely what he wanted and how he would go about getting it. He's always been impatient, wanting power handed to him with no effort on his part. He doesn't wait for things to happen—he prefers to act rather than react, and he never fails to strike at anything he sees as an annoyance or a threat. That makes the last few years even more confusing. I can't understand why he hasn't torn the world apart looking for Harry. He and his Death Eaters are active, certainly, picking off Light-sided wizards and witches, and attacking defenseless muggleborn families in random raids. These terroristic activities successfully sow fear, but very few give him the power and control he craves above all else. What can he be waiting for?"

"Knowing the answer to that would be all well and good. It doesn't, however, change how we feel. This isn't living," James completed their argument. "It's barely even existing. It's not an way of life that I want for my family. Lily and I want to have more children, but we've held off. It wouldn't be fair to bring them into this...this Merlin-be-damned, time-frozen hell."

A child's carefree giggle cut through the serious atmosphere. "Ooooh, Da used bad words!"

Harry and his crup puppy bounded into the gazebo, pants grass-stained, cheeks flushed and breathing hard. James smiled back and ruffled his son's untamed black hair. Brilliant emerald green eyes shone in a cherubic face. A dragon-hide wand holster bounced like a sword sheath on his left hip—proof to any wizard or witch that Harry received training, permissions and privileges not offered to most folk.

"Yes I did," James admitted, "but I'm grown up and allowed to. You're not."

Harry stabbed his chest with a stiffened thumb. "I'm five years old now! I got my own wand and everything! Am too grown!"

"Not enough to use naughty words," Lily replied.

"When?"

Lily blinked. "When what?"

"When will I be old enough to use naughty words?"

James said, "Thirty," even as Lily replied, "Fifty." James looked at his wife's face and quickly changed his decision to, "Fifty. Definitely fifty. At the earliest."

Harry harrumphed and hopped back out into the yard, calling to the crup, "C'mon, Cork. It's boring here. Let's play."

The boy trotted back to the wider yards between the cultivated gardens, his pup close on his heels. His departure allowed the dark atmosphere from before to creep back in.

"I'll see what I can do," Albus compromised, "but I make no promises. James, Lily, I'm sorry, but it has to be this way. Neville Longbottom was the only other child who fit the context of the prophecy. With him dead, young Harry is our _only_ hope."

()()()()

"It's here. Finally. After five long, annoying years. It's time."

Peter Pettigrew, otherwise known as Wormtail, stared fearfully up at the man who held his cowardly allegiance. "My lord?"

The taller wizard stared down the street at the quaint little cottage, at the lovely gardens and lush greenhouses in the back, the well-tended flower beds in the front. The traditional white picket fence. A string of reed and shell wind chimes hanging from a low tree limb. A swing, near which lay an abandoned toy hippogriff. Yes. His enemies had grown comfortable. Complacent. Careless.

"I've waited years for this day," Voldemort mused aloud. "For the entire time, that damnable prophecy hung over my head like an executioner's ax and gave them hope." The Dark Lord scoffed. "_False_ hope. They look at the words through filters of their own making. They give the prediction only one possible outcome. They never see that it has a second side, one in _my_ favor."

The balding, ratty little man sidled a half-step closer. "My lord, I...I don't understand. What is this second side?"

Rather than answer directly, Voldemort replied with a question of his own. "You've heard Trelawney's prophecy, Wormtail. What do you think it means?"

Peter hesitated, stuttered, and shuddered. When Voldemort glared at him to answer, he stammered, "It means...you're the one who will kill the child."

Voldemort backhanded the cowardly sycophant into a nearby fence. "Idiot. No one can kill me except that boy, and no one can kill the boy except me. What do you think would happen if I sent the brat so far away, he'd never get back? We're only vulnerable to each other. By keeping him alive in another world, I will live forever!"

Voldemort returned his gaze to the cottage at the end of the lane. "My agent inside the Department of Mysteries has located a dimension separate from our own—a trackless, empty void cut out of time. Trapped within this realm, he will never age, never grow, and most important of all...never escape. I intend to send Harry Potter there."

The smile on what would have otherwise been a handsome, chiseled face was demonic.

"Tonight."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**Disclaimer:** Don't own anything native to either the Potter-verse or the Naruto-verse. If I did, my fan fiction would be worth something, _ne?_

_**A/N:**__ This is a Gaara-is-Harry's-Guardian story. It will not be slash. Harry is a newly minted five-year-old; Gaara is a late fourteen and a few months from becoming Kazekage. I could never maintain a plot that covers eleven years—the minimum time for Harry to reach an age where I'd feel comfortable pairing him with anyone._

_All ships in this fleet will be canon-based, if they are mentioned at all, and are expected to have minor influence on the plot. Depending on manga and anime canon, that could change. We'll see._

_**EDIT 1.27.13:**__ I have learned that, at this time, Gaara would not have known the other Tailed Beasts' names. I have corrected that. Thank you to my reviewers for pointing out the error. Yay! This is what constructive critique is all about!_

.

Taking the brat had been damnably easy. The lack of serious opposition left Voldemort feeling cheated, annoyed, and disappointed.

Sending Wormtail in first was a stroke of genius. The mudblood witch went down right away, never knowing there was any danger. Potter gave him more trouble than expected but died soon enough. Losing Pettigrew was an annoyance; replacing him as a spy inside Dumbledore's ridiculous Order would be difficult but not impossible. On the other hand, once Harry Potter vanished into the void, Voldemort would soon destroy anyone who dared to oppose him. In the end, the victory was well worth the cost.

As for the brat ... Voldemort scowled, irritated by how close the Potter spawn came to escaping. Who would have thought a child that young could apparate so far?

Still, the Dark Lord had his prize, and his plans continued right on schedule.

He and his three most trusted Death Eaters stood on the edge of a secluded woodland meadow, so far from human habitation that no lights could be seen on any part of the horizon. A tiny hillock, cleaned of all vegetation down to bare earth and stone, rose from the clearing's center. A single block of polished sandstone crowned its summit.

Stars in the cloudless night sky shed no useful light, while leftover heat from the summer afternoon combined with high humidity to stifle every breath. No wind stirred to thin the heavy atmosphere. Were it not for the glowing tips of four wands, the lack of light would have left them all blind.

It was the darkest night of the month—August 16, 1985—the eve of the new moon. Whether it was connection or coincidence, the same night marked the peak of the mysterious source of magical energy first revealed to him by Felton Garreth, his spy in the Department of Mysteries.

The restrictions placed on their schemes by the Unbreakable Vow had proven easier to overcome than anticipated. It needed only for the holder of the pledge to meet an untimely end, which Voldemort insured early in the five-year wait. Afterwards, Garreth modified the memory of his supervisor's successor, making him believe the vow had been repeated.

With that irritation out of the way, the Dark Lord could exchange information and contribute resources to his researchers' efforts.

Efforts whose fruit had this very evening ripened enough to harvest.

Voldemort stared at the phosphorescent rune graffiti that covered the scoured ground surrounding the stone block for a diameter of three feet and felt the dizzy rush of success. Harry Potter lay across Lucius Malfoy' left shoulder, his pajama-clad body rag-doll limp and cut into sharp-angled light-and-shadow by the _lumos_ on Malfoy's wand tip. The Dark Lord smiled, his otherwise handsome face cadaverous in the surreal wand-light.

The three wizards and one witch were almost invisible in hooded robes that puddled on the ground at their feet. Bone white masks worn by the three Death Eaters floated in the darkness, a macabre contrast to their black attire. The entire setting satisfied the Dark Lord's inflated sense of the dramatic. Everything was as it should be to herald in the new age.

_Sweet victory. At last!_

Voldemort turned to Garreth and demanded, "The preparations?"

The Ministry spy threw back his hood, removed his mask, and slipped it into a pocket in his robes. Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy did the same, though Lucius had to juggle his wand and burden to do so.

Garreth bowed low and replied, "Complete, my lord, except for the final runes to be placed on and around the boy once he's laid on the block. These runes can only be applied to the object that will be transported by the castor of the final incantation—you, my lord. The sandstone has soaked for three years in mineral distillates and plant extracts, and suitable magical cores are imbedded within to provide optimum conductivity of the magical energy. I've already performed the linkage charms that connect the stone to the raw ley lines."

Voldemort turned to Malfoy. "Lay him on the stone and remove his shirt."

As the wizarding aristocrat with long, straight platinum blond hair and ice grey eyes stepped forward, Garreth added, "Be careful not to smudge any of the marks on the ground or shift any of the crystals."

Malfoy gave the Ministry wizard, whom he considered to be his inferior in every way, a scathing glare. How dare he bark orders to a leading member of the wizarding aristocracy as though Lucius Malfoy was nothing more than a filthy house elf? Being fearful of his master's wrath, however, Lucius obeyed with due caution. He knew full well, if any action on his part threatened Voldemort's objectives, Malfoy's life—what little remained of it—would hold only unspeakable pain.

Within moments the last Potter lay on the sandstone slab, barely conscious and minus his shirt.

As his bare skin touched the stone, Harry Potter shuddered from head to toe. Emerald green eyes clouded by pain and confusion peeked from beneath half lids. He tried to speak, but nothing escaped except a trembling moan drenched in fear.

"Awwww, widdle Hawwy Potty looks so cuuuuute." Bellatrix stroked the child's sweaty forehead with faux kindness. "All he needs for beddy-bye time is his teddy bear."

"He won't need a bear where he's going," Voldemort said. "I've waited long enough. Garreth, bring the supplies."

With Malfoy and Bellatrix providing the light (again, careful not to step on the pre-applied runes and power crystals, all of which glowed a poisonous yellow-green), Voldemort stepped up to the stone. At his lord's right side, Garreth held a wooden tray with three ceramic jars, a crystal phial, a large glass bowl, a silver stir-stick, a carafe of water, and a folded cotton towel. A dozen red-bristled paint brushes, varying in size from four hairs thick up to a fan tip as wide as a grown man's pinky fingernail, completed the collection.

Voldemort opened the jar labeled "James Potter" and poured a scarlet liquid into the bowl. The metallic, cloyingly sweet smell of fresh blood filled the stagnant air. He did the same for the containers marked "Lily Potter" and "Lord Voldemort." As he emptied each jar, he flung it to the side, well clear of the rune-capped hill. Last he unstoppered the phial and decanted its murky contents, which stank of rotten herbs and sulfur, into the bowl. The stir-stick blended the bowl's contents into a rose red liquid.

The Dark Lord flicked through the brushes. Finding the size he wanted, he dipped the drawing implement made from yew wood and red fox fur into the blood and tapped off the excess. The tool hovered a final, dramatic moment over the boy's chest then descended.

As the fox-hair brush ghosted over the bare skin around his left nipple, Harry whimpered and shivered. Not wanting any movement to disrupt his work, Voldemort drew his wand and cast a low-powered _stupefy_. The child stilled, allowing the Dark Lord to apply all of 144 memorized clusters. Voldemort never noticed the ten degree angle error on the character set directly over Harry Potter's heart.

An hour passed as Voldemort covered the child's torso and forehead with runic symbols, numbers, and letters. He laid the final brush down with a satisfied sigh. The tedious part was done. Now all he had to do was invoke the power that slumbered in the ground beneath their feet.

Garreth removed the tray. He threw everything into the brush that surrounded the clearing and hurried back to his master's side.

Voldemort took one final moment to gloat over the moaning child and smile. "Look at the stars, young Harry. Aren't they beautiful? Like fairy dust scattered across the heavens. Remember them, Harry. Where you're going, there are no stars. No sky. No earth. No growing things. No animals, no people. Nothing but a formless, trackless void that even time can't touch."

Voldemort performed an intricate combination of wand movements as he recited the long Latin incantation, still not aware of the miniscule error that would so drastically change his plans.

()()()()

In the Land of Wind, in the desert east of the Village Hidden by Sand, a solitary figure sat on the lee side of a dune and surveyed the desert vista before him. The sun hovered above the horizon cloaked in a late afternoon shimmer of radiant heat, bathing the sky and land in gradients of butter yellow, tan, rose, orange, red, and purple.

The fourteen-year-old wore a webbed, short-sleeve shirt, dark trousers, and a grey holster vest. A wide cloth strap across his chest supported a stoppered gourd as large as his torso and tied to his back. On the ground at his right side rested a round basket woven from the hearty stone-grass that clung to many of the rolling sand hills visible from his perch. Inside the container, secure in a bed of fertile soil, were plantings and cuttings from various hearty desert flora. Most were related species of cacti, but a few were stemmed, leafy or bulbous plants, each known either for their rarity or their medicinal promise.

Gaara of the Sand Waterfall enjoyed solitude more now than he did in his earliest days. Back then, being alone meant being hated and feared to the point where his own father ordered his assassination. Love was an illusion without substance or value, no hand was ever extended with compassion, and every shadow held potential danger. Memories of how his life used to be invariably lead to the Chuunin exams in the early part of his thirteenth year and to the miraculous turning point in his life—the day he met and fought Uzumaki Naruto.

_Even now,_ Gaara thought, _I can't remember that time without thinking of how ... unreal it felt. Someone understood my pain. Someone was like me in ways I couldn't begin to describe. Someone else also carried the burden of a Tailed Beast sealed within his body._

_I was not alone._

It had started with Naruto. The Nine-Tail's Jinchuriki showed Gaara how to open up to others—first to his sister Temari and brother Kankuro then to others. The next, and the next, and the next, until now ... If he never added another friend, Gaara was content with his life. Deep in his soul, however, he knew the truth. So long as he kept his heart open despite the risk of rejection, his circle of precious people would continue to grow.

"We thought we'd find you out here."

Gaara's eldest sibling squatted atop a flat rock at the peak of the dune, her web-and-beige long tunic, thigh-shorts, and brown obi a perfect camouflage for travel in the desert. Wheat blonde hair pulled back in four bristly buns and a tessen (1) strapped to her back, seventeen-year-old Temari studied Gaara with dark green eyes that twinkled with mild bemusement.

In contrast to Temari's chameleon ability to blend into the environment, Kankuro stood out like a giant black crow against a winter blue sky. The Sand Village's most promising puppet master wore a short tunic complete with cat-eared hood, and baggy trousers tied to his calves with black bindings. The only breaks in the all-ebony color were a lavender obi around his waist and dark purple lines painted around his eyes, nose, mouth, and jawline. Three sealing scrolls containing his favorite battle puppets rode his lower back. His stiff pose, arms crossed over a wide torso, disagreed with the rare, relaxed expression on his face.

Both siblings wore the hitai-ate of the Hidden Sand Village—Temari around her neck and Kankuro on the forehead of his hood.

Gaara's lips turned up the slightest bit. He studied Kankuro's face and commented, "You changed your face-paint design again."

The hooded head bobbed. "The last pattern wasn't intimidating enough." In a similar light banter, Kankuro pointed to the basket. "Find any good cuttings?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," the auburn-haired teen replied. Mint green, black-ringed eyes glinted with the tiniest hint of pleasure. A soft puff of wind dry shifted his bangs to reveal the dark red kanji for "love" on the left side of his forehead. "One rare cactus in particular. I plan to graft it to a similar genus to create a new variety, hopefully one that can produce more gel in its leaves to treat burns. I'm also hoping to improve our oils, soaps, and lotions. We could export them as luxury items. If the market is large enough, it should bring some needed revenue to the village. Especially if I can create varieties that require less water to thrive."

"We're here to tell you the latest news," Temari said. "We have definite proof that the Stone's encroached on Sand territory and is poaching our A-rank and S-rank contracts. There have been confirmed raids on three small villages near the northwest border, and the senior shinobi stationed at two Gild Valley border posts have been assassinated. The council's finally admitted they need to elect someone to replace the Fourth Kazekage." Mindful of her youngest brother's bad memories, she did not mention their father, the late village leader, by name. "They've narrowed the choices to two candidates."

"Baki will be one," Gaara stated without hesitation.

Kankuro nodded. "He is. You'll never guess the second."

Gaara mentally ran through the names of every shinobi in the village who would make a strong Kazekage. No one other than Baki stood out. Whoever they elected would need the support of the village as well as the elder's council. He or she must be strong in either chakra control or physical fighting prowess, as well as feared enough by the Iwa-nin to deter further invasions.

He looked to his brother and tilted his head.

A wicked grin, made more ominous by the dark purple face paint, greeted his unspoken question. Kankuro pointed a stiff finger straight at Gaara and said, "You."

Gaara was rarely surprised to the point that he physically reacted. He seldom showed any emotion other than cold determination, seething anger, and a promise of lethal violence. Most of the time, his face was an empty slate—blank, unreadable, and frightening in its mystery. Hearing Kankuro's announcement, Gaara fell onto his back and slid down the dune until the clay gourd of chakra-infused sand caught on a rock.

Eyes wide and jaw slack, Gaara stared upside down at the snickering pair in stunned silence. He blinked, tried to close his mouth, and blinked again.

"Kankuro," Temari smirked, "how is he going to be Kazekage if you break him?"

"Gaara's tough. He'll come around in a few minutes."

Gaara rallied enough to roll off the gourd into a three-point kneel. His baritone voice was hoarse with disbelief. "They ... me ... but ... they'd need a powerful Jonin ... I'm Chuunin ... and Jinchuriki ... They've always been afraid of me ... that ... that can't be right ..."

"You'd make a wonderful Kazekage, Gaara," Temari said. "You're young and strong. You have more control over sand than any other shinobi in the world, and I don't for a second believe it's just because you're Jinchuriki to the One-Tail. In terms of chakra reserves and finite control, no one is better. You've proven your loyalty to the village many, many times. Because of you, Hidden Sand has a powerful alliance with Hidden Leaf. Lady Tsunade herself expressed strong support for your candidacy."

"Me? Kazekage?" Gaara couldn't grasp the concept, never mind admitting to the possibility.

"Yes, you," Temari said, accompanied by a sharp nod of support from Kankuro.

_Could I do it?_ Gaara thought. _Could I become the Fifth Kazekage? Naruto has dreamed his whole life of being the Hokage of the Leaf. After meeting him, I dared to imagine myself in such a position. I modeled myself after my friend; his path led me out of the dark and into the light. I dreamed. I planned. I fought every obstacle between me and my goal. I expected it to take decades._

_I didn't expect it to take less than three years! I find myself stunned._

_Kazekage. So much power. So much responsibility. The possibilities ... All my life I've wanted to be accepted for myself. My heart was wounded, bleeding my soul dry. If it weren't for Uzumaki Naruto, it would have broken and I would have done by best to destroy the world._

_Can someone with that past, that mindset, become a leader who guides a nation? Protects it? Sacrifices everything for the land and its people?_

"It's ... a lot to consider," Gaara whispered.

"Consider?" Kankuro repeated. "How so?"

Gaara faced the west. The sun hovered two fingers' width above the horizon; it promised to be a gorgeous sunset. The youth's mint green eyes, void of any pupil, turned inwards. He barely noted the spray of colors and found no answers in its splendor.

"They've always hated me. Feared me. From my earliest days, I ate, slept, and breathed their malice. Can they really have forgotten that in so short a time? The council endorsed the Fourth's orders to assassinate me. More than one pushed me away when I got too close, while others found reasons to leave the room. Can these same elders take orders from me? Will they accept my authority, or will they question every little thing?"

"Hmmm," Kankuro sighed. "I haven't thought of that."

Gaara carried his arguments one step further. "Baki's a seasoned warrior who has the full support and devotion of the ranks. If he were the Kazekage, the council could never control him. I have to ask: did they tap me solely to use the other hidden villages' fear of Shukaku as a protection against attack? Do they think because I'm young, they can control me or use me as both weapon and shield?"

"We'll make sure they don't," Temari swore even as Kankuro raised clenched fists and said, "We won't let them."

"No offense to your puppets, Kankuro," Gaara said, his expression hardened, "but I won't be a marionette, my strings yanked and tugged by faceless figures hiding in the shadows."

"As we said," Kankuro repeated, "we won't let that happen. Whether you become the Kazekage or not, we have your back, brother."

It required an experienced eye to spot it, but the muscles of Gaara's jaw relaxed and his eyes softened as they always did whenever his siblings expressed their love for him. Any show of support from his siblings, whether stated or implied, warmed him more than a thousand huzzahs from anyone else in the Land of Wind.

"Temari. Kankuro. Thank—"

A pulse of _something_, originating in the open desert, slammed into the three shinobi. It powered Gaara to the ground and knocked Temari and Kankuro off of the dune. Gaara pumped chakra into his limbs and jumped to the sand hill's highest point. His siblings did the same.

The three knelt side by side and stared towards the west. A jagged fissure opened some thirty feet above the ground. Beyond was a black void that the sun's light could not penetrate. Air whistled through the crack as though suctioned by a powerful vacuum, taking with it a ton of sand and rock from the desert below.

A giant ball, brighter than anything they'd ever seen, burst from the rift. Gaara, Temari, and Kankuro yelled in pain and shielded their eyes, but the damage was done. Blinded by the unnatural brilliance, the trio could not see the multi-colored aurora that surrounded the orb. Its physical presence crawled across their skin, raising hairs and alarm with every pulse.

A hammer of compressed air rushed across the desert, pushing ahead of it a tsunami of sand and rock as tall as the protective wall around their village. Boulders larger than a house rode the wave as though they weighed nothing at all. No living thing could survive such an onslaught.

An instant before the lethal wall would have scoured their bodies clean to the bone, Gaara yanked his brother and sister close to his side. Combining half of his Ultimate Defense sand with raw material from the surrounding dunes, Gaara invoked his strongest Air Protective Sand Wall. The half that remained in the gourd formed a Shield of Sand; the golden egg closed around the living huddle.

The attacking debris and the pressurized air behind it slammed into the wall. The impact was like the boom of a mallet against a taut drumhead. Air and earth alike shuddered. The sonic vibrations created visible ripples in the atmosphere, each one a new ring of projectile sand.

Close behind the concussion came a deafening _whump_ louder than a million thunderclaps. Before the cowering shinobi could recover, another wave of _something_ rolled over them.

Inside the Shield of Sand, three breaths caught. Vision greyed out. Consciousness foundered in the crushing assault.

"What ... _IS_ that?" Temari yelled over the outside noise and the ringing in her ears.

Gaara offered the first suggestion. "Feels like ... chakra ... raw, unfocused chakra ... but with something ... more! I've never felt it before, even from Shukaku!"

An eternity passed within the shield. The ground quaked as though from a meteor impact. The air tightened one last time. A final whoosh of scoured air then ...

A silence as final as death.

Gaara waited several minutes before he risked a fist-sized hole in their shield. Nothing new assaulted either their bunker or their senses, so Gaara allowed their shield to flow back into the gourd. The siblings stood and faced the rippled sand wall. Gaara's hands molded the air, teased the raw sand out of its hardened shape, and returned it to the desert floor. The remaining chakra-powered sand flowed back into the gourd, pulling the stopper into place behind it.

The trio gasped as one and stared in disbelief.

Undulating desert hills, scattered plants, and all kinds of desert life had vanished without a trace. In their stead was a teardrop-shaped hole some fifty feet deep and three hundred feet across at its widest point. Its walls steamed and glittered with impact glass created by a tremendous heat.

Something had gouged a wound into the planet itself.

Temari coughed and covered her nose with her forearm. All three shinobi squinted against both the setting sun's light and the burning sting of fumes put forth by melted minerals and scorched earth.

"Gods above and below," Kankuro whispered, appalled by the devastation. "What did this? Was it ... was it a Tailed Beast? That's the only thing I can think of that _could_ do it."

"I doubt it," Gaara replied. "Except for the Leaf's Nine-Tails, the Cloud's Eight-Tails, and my One-Tail, the Akatsuki have taken the others. The Cloud's second Beast, Two-Tails, may still be free, I'm not sure."

They needed to learn what caused the destruction. Gaara created a sand platform upon which they could travel and avoid the smoking desert floor. The artificial lift floated over the edge of the pit and sank down, following the curve of the glassy walls. Deepening shadows replaced direct sunlight. It took a moment for their eyes to adjust.

Kankuro spotted it first. He pointed towards the deepest section and said, "There. A square stone."

"Hnn." Gaara adjusted their descent until they hovered within thirty feet of the block.

Temari stiffened and exclaimed, "That's ... there's someone down there—_it's a_ _child!_"

"Impossible," Kankuro scoffed even as he leaned over to see for himself. "Nothing could've lived through that hell."

"Then what would you call _that_?" Temari jabbed a finger towards the tiny form atop the square stone.

Gaara set them down on the rapidly cooling ground, though he kept a layer of sand between their sandals and the impact glass. As the three shinobi approached the strange stone, Temari freed and half-opened her tessen. Kankuro's hand rested on the sealed scroll that held Crow, ready to summon the battle puppet at a moment's notice.

The child was quite young. He wore red trousers covered in dirt, grass stains, and blood. Gaara eyed the clothing with suspicion. The designs along the waistband ... some kind of balls with wings. Were they ... moving?

The Jinchuriki of the Hidden Sand guessed the boy to be around five or six, at most a small seven. Black hair stood in sweaty spikes even more pronounced than Uzumaki Naruto's infamous mane. The skin of his face and arms was lightly tanned, while the bare chest was a noticeably lighter shade.

The child's arms, though bare, were covered in bruises and tear-type wounds (as opposed to the cleaner edges created by a bladed weapon). Man-made marks overrode the bruises and cuts on his chest. Additional symbols filled the space of his forehead from eyebrows to hairline, temple to temple. The soles of his feet were raw from toes to heel. Swelling distorted the left side of his face, evidence of a strong blow; the four-dot bruise pattern created by human knuckles gave evidence of its origin.

"The drawings look like ... some type of seal?" Temari suggested. "I've never seen any seal art this elaborate, and nowhere near this many at one time. It looks like it was painted in ... blood ..."

Kankuro dabbed a fingertip against the half-dry substance, raised it to his nose, and sniffed. "It _is_ blood."

Gaara touched the boy's throat. A faint pulse beat in irregular rhythm against his fingertips. Second, Gaara noted a fevered warmth radiating from his skin. The small chest rose and fell, but the respirations were too shallow to offer much benefit. Gaara leaned closer to listen to his breathing and heard a raspy wheeze.

"He's alive."

"We should leave him here," Kankuro said. "We have no idea where he's from, what powers he has, or who sent him. It could be an assassin's trap."

"I know you don't like kids, Kankuro," Temari scolded her brother, "but that's a little harsh, don't you think?"

Gaara stared down upon the strange child and said, "Kankuro's half right. We should be careful. The Akatsuki aren't above using a child. Killing the Kazekage candidates before they can solidify their position and gain allies would be to their advantage. Killing the candidates would throw the Sand into turmoil."

"Not to mention how badly they want to get their hands on you, the Jinchuriki," Temari finished for him. "But could they have learned of the council's decision before we did? The elders only met this morning." The blonde fan-wielder sighed again, harder. "Well, what do we do? We can't leave him here. ... Can we?"

Gaara's normally moderate voice took on a tiny hint of irritation. "Of course not. Despite the risk, we'll take him to the village. He has a high fever, he's weak, and his breathing's way off. He needs serious medical attention. Food, water. And a bath."

Temari became even more pensive. "What do we call him?"

"I have a better question," Kankuro countered. "How much of what really happened do we tell the elders? Or Baki?"

Temari added a new query to the mix. "And who's going to be responsible for him?"

"We can deal with all of that later," Gaara said. "Right now, his condition takes precedence. Let's get him back to the village."

()()()()

**TRANSLATION:**

1) _tessen_—a giant iron fan, a war fan capable of deflecting physical attacks and creating a powerful wind

.

**A/N Addendum:** Harry's skill with magic, the actual attack on Potter Cottage, and Harry's capture will be addressed in future chapters. I provided the pertinent points in chapters one and two to move the story along without my readers having to suffer heavy "déjà vu all over again" in later installments.

_JUMPIN' JESOSAPHAT!_ As of this posting, there are already 16 reviews, 54 faves, 88 story alerts, and I'm not sure how many new author alerts—just from chapter one! In only six days! *gulp* Expectations will be high ... um, can anyone recommend a reliable, Naruto-knowledgeable beta?


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_**A/N:**__ If you're keeping up with the Naruto manga as of July 2013, you know what I mean when I say O.M.G. O.M.G. .Gee! Nuf said on that..._

_Does anyone know where I can find an accurate Naruto/Naruto Shippuden timeline? The Naruto wikia page lists some but not all events and only in years, not specific dates. I am particularly interested in the people and chronology of the earliest Naruto Shippuden episodes, particularly from the Kazekage Rescue up through the Five-Kage Summit arcs._

_Would you like to influence a scene in a future chapter? You can! Naruto's mindscape for Kyubi is a dark waterlogged corridor and a tall sealed gate. How do you see Gaara's habitat for Ichibi? We know his seal is neither as complex nor as secure as Naruto's, but what else? What type of environment might Gaara envision for his tenant? If you have an idea, please let me know by either review or PM._

_Enjoy!_

.

On average, the adults of the Village Hidden in the Sand tended to be reserved and watchful, sometimes taciturn, hard-hearted, even cruel. The children, as with most children everywhere, would run, laugh and play, but as they aged, the harshness of life frequently sapped much of their carefree and innocent natures. Time and training drilled obedience to authority into them, especially those who followed the shinobi way of life. Even stronger than obedience, however, was a fervent respect for power.

In the Village Hidden in the Sand, none was more powerful than Gaara of the Sand Waterfall, which explained why his sudden appearance garnered immediate attention.

The dawn-facing main entrance to the village – used by nobility, emissaries, trade caravans, merchants, clients, general visitors, and citizens of the Land of Wind – neatly bisected the expansive and natural shield wall. The tract, roughly twelve-to-fifteen feet wide, allowed carts, wagons and carriages to pass but not bulkier vehicles like siege engines. Explosive tags and prepared earth jutsu traps lined the walls, ready to destroy it at the first sign of attack. The desert side of the outer walls had five tiers of walkways, stone parapets cut into the natural slope of the cliff face at a 50 degree angle from base to summit. From their elevated vantage points, sentries scrutinized the area with binoculars. Lookouts normally manned the ramparts night and day.(1)

The key word being "normally."

A disturbance to the east shortly before sunset wrought havoc and sent every spotter running for cover. Far in the distance, beyond the horizon, a gigantic blast threw a visible plume of dust into the air. The impact generated a series of ground-quakes, felt even inside the village proper. The sound alone was terrifying – a staccato series of booms and sonic pressure waves.

Minutes after the first trembler, a churning 50-foot-tall tsunami of rock and sand rumbled across the desert, headed straight for the village.

By good luck alone, two of the sentries on duty were earth elementals. No one could hear them summoning the jutsu over the indescribable noise, but together they created three consecutive earth barriers on the village side of the man-made crevice. The first wall crumbled under the onslaught. The second buckled in four places, but the third blocked what made it through. A wind user created powerful gusts to dissipate the suffocating fog of silt and dust. They had stopped the wave of debris before it could pour into the valley.

The deafening noise subsided, leaving behind only the skittering of landslides, falling rocks, and the sub-vocal creak of settling earth. In the relative silence, the shinobi shared what little information they had. They all agreed – neither sounds nor geographic uproar gave any clue as to their source. No one could recall anything of this type ever happening, not even in the absolute worse sandstorms.

The event had everyone on edge. The sun set before additional shinobi arrived in sufficient numbers to begin the arduous task of removing tons of debris that clogged the entrance and buried the bottom two parapets. Eighty-two men and women labored by lamplight and flashlight to remove sand, rocks, boulders, pulverized plants, and mutilated animal carcasses. The area was too narrow and dangerous to hold more workers. Those who arrived too late stood ready to replace anyone who tired or injured themselves. Thirty of the physically strongest shinobi worked in pairs, transporting the detritus deeper into the unrecognizable desert using woven baskets or rope nets that dangled from long carry poles.

More than one shinobi fell due to unstable footing or sank up to their hips, resulting in varying levels of injury, from simple bruises to broken bones. Despite that, the work progressed faster than it might have otherwise. Nine elementals employed earth-based ninjutsu to move the largest obstructions or shore up a shaky section, while two wind users controlled what otherwise might have been unbreathable air and, when safe to do so, blew newly created dunes farther into the desert. A fire user dealt with the plant or animal matter. Unearthing the parapets would have to wait until the following day, or until Gaara could remove the obstruction.

Since no one knew what caused the phenomena – many speculated that it might be a prelude to an attack – defenses in the village were strengthened, civilian enforcement put on alert, and the general populace warned in case they should retreat to underground shelters. The senior jonin on duty dispatched three heavily armed scout teams to investigate the source, hoping to gather information.

Twilight was fading to true night when Gaara, Temari and Kankuro come into sight. Sentries stationed on the third rampart passed the news through their radios to the interior guards. Sight of a child cradled in the jinchuriki's arms raised the call from a simple notification to a heightened alert. The three didn't stop to speak, instead bounding over the obstruction as fast as the uneven surface allowed.

The jonin commander, Baki, stood near the first of seven gates that guarded the main road. Light posts illuminated his stout figure and cast a shadowed "X" across the paving stones. Two red triangular tattoos similar to claws accentuated a stern scowl, while a white curtain of cloth masked the left side of his face.

As the Desert Siblings approached their former team leader, he dispatched additional shinobi, watch, police, and regular units. Some hurried to join those already manning interior watch posts. Others scattered into the village to prevent panic, keep the curious out of everyone's way, and maintain an open line of communication. By the time the siblings came near, fifteen out of an original sixty remained to receive orders.

"You and you," Baki pointed to specific shinobi, "go support the western access. The rest assume positions along the upper walls around the valley. Call in if you even _think_ someone may be using this emergency as a distraction to infiltrate the village. Go."

The fifteen moved so fast, they seemed to vanish into thin air.

Gaara, Temari and Kankuro stopped on front of their mentor. Dark eyes immediately locked onto the body in Gaara's arms.

"What happened?" Baki asked. "What caused the explosion?"

"Go ahead to the hospital," Temari said to her brothers. "I'll give the report."

Gaara offered a nod of thanks then chakra-pushed onto the wall and from there to the nearest rooftop.

For shinobi, roof travel was much faster than attempting to navigate curving, diverging streets. Walls, buildings, animals, and people often blocked the way. This was the case in most hidden villages, where careful attention was given to construction and city planning. The purpose was two-fold: to make it easier for their own shinobi and to hinder any enemies who attempted to ransack the city. The Sand's defenders knew the safe routes, easily avoiding trick roofs and rigged structures that could kill invading shinobi.

Gaara and Kankuro reached the hospital within four minutes, landed on the ramp in front of the triage room doors and rushed inside. Momentarily blinded by the bright interior lighting, the brothers paused just inside the entry. The triage area consisted of four small treatment rooms around a central lobby. Each room held a narrow bed, as well as metal cabinets containing scrolls, instruments, bandages, and standard medications. A circular desk occupied the center of the anteroom, and was manned by two medic-nin.

Gaara had never had a reason to enter this area. His sand armored him against serious injury. He never sickened with illnesses common to children or suffered from the effects of high heat. Due to the rapid healing factor provided by Shukaku, he never needed any type of medical treatment. The few times he visited Baki, Temari or Kankuro during a stay, he came through a different entrance.

_This is little more than a clinic designed to treat light injuries or mild illnesses,_ the sand master reckoned. _Serious or critical cases must be treated elsewhere. _

Gaara looked at his burden and noted how heavy he felt in his arms. The wounds looked even worse in the bright light, while the strange, blood-painted symbols showed in greater relief against the pale skin. Gaara felt the heat of fever even through his clothing.

The child laid pale, ragdoll limp and deathly still. He needed more attention than he would receive in the triage unit.

Gaara moved closer to the two medic-nin stationed at the desk and demanded, "Help this child."

The man and woman in dark brown healer's robes and white mantles shrank away, faces pinched in fear. With his blood-red hair, raccoon eyes and a sand gourd strapped to his back, Gaara was easily recognized as the Sand's jinchuriki, even by people who had never laid eyes on him.

A recent shift in peoples' perceptions had blunted his childhood reputation as an unstable and homicidal personality. His resolve to protect shinobi and citizens alike had been noted and remembered. Shinobi – the most vocal being Yaoki and Korobi, two regular forces puppeteers who accompanied Gaara on one of his earliest missions – shared stories of how he shielded them during violent confrontations, carried more than his fair share of any work, thanked them for their efforts, and always treated them with respect. Diplomatic missions progressed smoothly, in large part due to Gaara's mellow demeanor, reasonable responses, and a strength of will to both compromise and stand firm, depending on the mission objectives. Citizens took notice when he greeted them with humble politeness, used his ability to repair damaged buildings or lift heavy objects, and responded to every situation with patience and compassion.

Something in the new Gaara made many people relax in his presence and trust in his protection. Even so, ingrained responses were often hard to overcome.

None of that mattered. Gaara's only concern was the boy in his arms. A single frown line between his eyes expressed quite clearly his irritation at their failure to immediately obey. That visible display of annoyance was enough to get the female medic-nin moving.

"Lay him on the stretcher." She waved toward a wheeled transport set against a side wall.

Gaara laid the boy down and stepped back. After only a few moments' examination with medical ninjutsu, the woman cursed and shoved the cart into motion. Kankuro pushed from the right side and Gaara from the foot as they hurried down a brief corridor, leaving the man to remain on duty in the triage room. Throughout the trip, the medic's right hand hovered over the tiny chest, feeding healing chakra into his body.

The stretcher's wheels rattled against the stone floor until they entered a room marked "Treatment Room 3."(2) Once there, the woman transferred her patient to a wider bed. A surgical nin, experienced in treating severe trauma, took over, leaving the clinic med-nin free to remove the stretcher and return to her post.

The red-haired master of the sand stood near a row of small round windows, well out of the healers' way, while Kankuro settled onto the bench in the outer hallway. As Gaara watched the middle-aged medic-nin and his two aides examine their patient, it struck him how small the boy looked on a bed sized for an adult. He felt a rare sympathy for the young victim of what looked to be a vicious attack.

Gaara squashed the emotion, at least for the moment. The security of the village came before all other considerations ... even the life of one little boy.

"There is a mystery surrounding this child," Gaara said. "Do what you can for him, but maintain a guard in the room at all times and preserve all possible evidence."

The younger assistant, his face tense with anxiety, took a half-step back from the bed. "Is he dangerous?"

"We do not know yet. Until we can say for certain, take photos from every angle, gather samples of everything, and hold his clothing for careful examination."

()()()()

On the far side of the avenue's walls, the alarmed cries of worried citizens replaced the normal hush of a typical desert evening when the heat of the day still lingered, not yet replaced by night's chill. On that night, everyone who lived or worked on the eastern edge of Hidden Sand either gathered to watch the unfolding drama or overran one another attempting to flee deeper into the village. Genin and chunin shinobi, aided by civilian authorities, worked to restore order to the chaos with limited success. At best, they kept the crowds back far enough to leave their comrades free to work.

Baki and Temari watched her brothers vanish in the direction of the hospital. Once they were out of sight, the jonin commander turned back to the wind user, his entire attention now devoted to the report she would give.

"Can I assume you three were somewhere near whatever caused that sand tsunami?" It was a statement of fact, even though the words were phrased as a question. "Tell me what happened."

"Kankuro and I had just found Gaara approximately two miles due east of the village. There was some type of thrust powerful enough to knock us off our feet. The only way I can describe what happened next is ... a hole opened approximately eighty feet above the ground. Beyond it was a black void that sucked every nearby object into it – sand, rock, earth, vegetation, everything, even the air itself. After a few seconds, something came out of it."

"Something?" Baki said.

Temari nodded. "The object was surrounded by a blinding white light. Just as our vision cleared, a concussive force slammed into the ground, creating an earth wave hundreds of feet tall. Gaara used his Ultimate Defense sand, Air Protective Sand Wall, and Shield of Sand to save us. While inside the shield, we couldn't see anything, but we felt a power that Gaara compared to raw, unfocused chakra but stronger than anything he'd ever felt, even from the One-Tail. The air pressure was unreal. We could hardly breathe and nearly passed out. It felt like a two-ton weight pressed down on our bodies. The ground shook from an impact then everything stopped. Gaara released the shield and dissolved the wall. Towards the west, as far as we could see, the ground was scoured clean and level except for a crater some fifty feet deep and three hundred wide. The sides were glassed from impact heat."

Her report paused as a team rushed past them, headed towards the east entrance, their arms full of bags, nets, poles and lighting equipment. A few nodded respectful greetings to their commander but didn't pause to speak.

Once the group had passed, Baki commanded, "Continue."

"We entered the hole and found a square stone block covered in markings similar to seals. On top of the stone was the child Gaara carried. His body was covered in designs like the ones on the stone. He had visible injuries consistent with an attack and knuckle-shaped bruises on his face."

"Other than the stone block, was there anything else at the site?"

"Nothing that I saw. But then, we didn't take time to search. The investigation teams might find something."

Baki's brows gathered, his jaw clenched and his lips thinned – all sure signs of his dissatisfaction with the lack of detailed information.

"I'll dispatch a scout team," he said.

Before he could activate his radio, Temari stopped her former sensei with a hand on his arm. "No need. As we hurried to the village, we met the scout teams already sent out by the lead duty jonin. We directed them to the crater with instructions to secure the area until a scientific team could arrive."

"There was writing on it, you say?" Baki asked.

The tessen specialist nodded. "Similar markings were painted in blood on his body."

"I want to see these marks. Come with me."

The pair leapt to the wall and bounded off.

()()()()

"Do you have things here?" Kankuro asked his younger brother. At Gaara's nod, the puppet master said, "I'm going to find something to eat. Can I bring you back something?"

Gaara neither nodded nor shook his head. He simply replied, "Breakfast was some time ago."

Kankuro laughed. "In Gaara-speak, that was a 'yes, please, and thank you very much.'" He slapped Gaara's shoulder and said, "One tasty bento coming up. Well, as tasty as a bento can get in a hospital cafeteria."

As Kankuro disappeared through the door, Gaara turned his attention to an unused bed in the treatment room. Small bottles held blood, hair, nail clippings, saliva, and stomach contents. Others contained cuttings from the trousers, each piece displaying grass stains, plant matter, dark earth, or blood. Samples of the dried blood and minerals that formed the strange symbols were likewise secured. Still more bottles secured every trace of foreign matter embedded in his bloody feet. Paper seals encircled the necks of every container, making them airtight.

Gaara scrutinized the collection. He looked over the organic samples for anything that might be missing. Over one hundred images of the markings, both color and black and white, and taken from every possible angle, stood in two stacks. As hard as he tried, he could not decipher their meaning. The medics had gathered everything Gaara could think might be of use. He dismissed both the biologicals and the photos, having neither the training nor the jutsu to unlock their secrets. Instead, he concentrated on the things he could examine, specifically the clothing and other items found on the boy's person.

Small golden balls with wings still moved along the waistline of the pants, though their movement was not as noticeable as it was earlier in the evening. The material slid between the pads of his fingertips. He brought it close to his nose – sweat, blood, a trace of superheated metal (most likely from the crater where he was found), and a vague scent of moist earth, like Gaara remembered from his visits to the forests that surrounded the Hidden Leaf Village. The seams were sewn in an unfamiliar pattern and done in an ultrafine thread. A drawstring made of cloth, braided into a thin cord and terminated with wooden beads served to tie the garment around the wearer's waist.

_How could he possibly have __**green**__ grass stains in the desert? The nearest source of that is a solid day away at full run._

He put down the cloth and turned to the last item. A leather holster had been found strapped to the boy's outer right calf. Inside was a long, narrow stick with a carved handle. Gaara's nose twitched, noting the scent of a citrus type of oil. The wood was dark, slightly springy (as opposed to hardwood), polished and well cared for.

_This cannot possibly be a weapon,_ he thought. _It's too thin to strike or thrust and would be useless as a defense. The blunt tip might work to poke out someone's eye but little else. They found it strapped beneath his clothing, out of easy reach. The holster shows signs of extensive wear, evidencing some level of importance. Perhaps the rod is a keepsake. If so, why would he risk carrying it on his person where it could easily be lost or broken? It isn't ornate enough to be a sign of rank or authority. It might be a family tradition that signifies an achievement or mastered skill – such would be odd but not unheard-of._

_Could it hold some religious significance? Cults or fringe groups might use such an object. The designs found on his body and on the stone block could support this possibility._

The noise level around the bed grew louder and more strained. Gaara looked over his shoulder as two more medic-nin rushed in to help.

"Kouryuu-sama, you called us?" The taller of the two called.

"I did," the elder doctor said. "I have a critical case here who isn't responding to the standard treatments. I need your help to stabilize his vital signs long enough for me to find the cause of his symptoms. Hyomi, you take his respiration and cardiac rhythms. Tamuru, see what you can do to bolster his immune system and lower the fever before it fries his brain. I'll concentrate on his chakra coils and nervous system."

Under the harsh treatment room lights, naked and covered only with a narrow sheet across his hips, the child looked paler than ever on the too-large bed. Violent shivers racked his body, though they lessened slightly under Tamuru's efforts. The markings had been washed off to prevent any source of infection from entering through the open wounds. A brace held his left arm immobile to protect the IV insertion site.

While the surgeon med-nin tended to the serious aspects of treatment, one assistant rushed to get instruments and medications called for by the medic-nins. When he wasn't dashing around, he treated the smaller scrapes and applied thick bandages to the worst cuts. Of those that remained visible, several fragile scabs broke due to the tremors. The cuts seeped thin rivulets of red blood, the scarlet color a harsh contrast against the milk-white skin.

The second assistant knelt on the foot of the bed. A wheeled table resting against the footrest held a basin of herb-scented water, white cloths, a tube of ointment, and plenty of bandages. Her tools at hand, the assistant cleaned the shredded feet. The aide held her hands near the right foot and fed healing chakra to the sole.

_The condition of his feet can mean but one thing. Whatever transpired was against his will, so much so that he endured the pain of running across hard ground in bare feet. A person doesn't do that unless he fears for his life. The wounds are consistent with a dash through thick brush. As for the fist marks – a beating, punishment for daring to deny his fate?_

_Might he have been some type of unwilling sacrifice? Was the void we saw the result of some powerful jutsu? Was it meant to deliver the boy here, or was there some other reason? Could the void have been a prison? A means of escape? If so, an escape from what? Will whatever force sent him here endanger the Land of Wind? The proximity of the event to the Hidden Sand Village might not be a coincidence._

_So many questions and not one answer._

"Are you feeling this?" Kouryuu asked his colleagues. Hyomi and Tamuru both nodded.

Gaara focused his full attention on the treatment. "What is it?"

"His chakra coils are ... they're present, but we're sensing something more," the primary trauma specialist replied even as an assistant dabbed sweat from his face. The forehead section and jawline of the traditional healer's head wear, meant to restrain every strand of hair, were noticeably moist. "There are unusual power fluctuations. It changes from one scan to the next and ... "

"And?" Gaara prompted.

Healer Kouryuu shook his head and glared, as if the impossible findings were a direct insult to his experience as a physician. "It should be impossible, but I've checked my findings three times and obtained the same results. Tamuru and Hyomi have confirmed it. His chakra levels seem to be rising. New coils are developing throughout his chakra circulatory system and new tenketsu are forming, perhaps influenced by the increasing power flows."

"That cannot be possible," Gaara said, a tiny bit of surprise showing on his face. "Chakra coils and tenketsu points are formed at birth. This is proven fact. They can be damaged, even destroyed, but they cannot be altered."

"I thought so, as well, but there's no denying the evidence." Kouryuu's hands hovered directly over his unconscious patient's sternum. "As unbelievable as that finding might be, there is also an unknown residue on his chest directly over his heart. It responds to my scans like the remnants of a poorly executed jutsu. It could be causing the fluctuations."

The senior medic looked to the others and firmed his stance. "I'm going to attempt to remove it. Stand ready to assist."

Kouryuu's hands formed a triangle, straight index and thumbnails touching. The other fingers pressed together even as they curled downwards. Blue-green chakra flowed around the formation. A low hum filled an otherwise complete silence. Everyone held their breaths and watched.

Sweat dotted Kouryuu's wrinkled brow to drip off of his nose and chin. His jaw clenched and breath came in forced pants.

_Whatever he is attempting,_ Gaara thought, _requires all of his power and skill._

The medic's eyes widened in unmistakable fear. He drew away from the bed and cried out, "His chakra – it's expanding out of control! Get – "

The child's body bowed upwards until only his head and heels touched the mattress. A writhing tangle of black tendrils forced their way through the skin and wrapped around Healer Kouryuu from fingertips to mid-forearm. Both medic and patient screamed, accompanied by a snap-and-crackle like captured lightning. An ash-gray dome of light moved out from the tendrils.

Golden sand shot from Gaara's gourd. Even with this instant response, he was only able to shield the nearest two medics and their assistants from the dark chakra burst. Healer Kouryuu caught the full effect of the power pouring from the boy's chest. Direct contact worsened the damage.

Gaara hesitated, searching for the safest course of action. It all came down to one simple fact: however dangerous it might be to interfere, allowing Healer Kouryuu to remain in contact with the tendrils was not an option.

With a single stroke, a razor-sharp sand blade cut through the strands and released the medic-nin. The ashen light pulsed, throwing Healer Kouryuu straight for an interior wall. Though unable to prevent the injuries, Gaara slid enough sand between the medic-nin and the wall to cushion the impact.

"Kouryuu-sama!" Tamuru and Hyomi cried in unison.

The instant Gaara released his shield, the medic-nin rushed to their injured superior and began immediate treatment.

With their attention and the eyes of the assistants elsewhere, only Gaara saw the bed's occupant slump into an untidy sprawl. The holes in his chest created by the tendrils sealed closed, leaving not even a trace of a scar. The boy's breathing was even more labored, a rapid pant that could not possibly provide sufficient air.

_This danger appears to have passed. Will there be another? Have I saved an innocent child or brought danger into my village? I don't know whether to pity him for what he's endured or destroy him before he can put my precious people at risk._

Gaara's insides quivered under a wave of uncertainty. _This is the kind of decision I would have to make if I become Kazekage. A small child on one side of the scale, Hidden Sand Village on the other._

Another, more personal, thought froze Gaara in place. His hand trembled; even clenching it into a fist could not stop the shakes. _This ... this must be how my father felt when Shukaku ... when I ... lost control. Did he truly hate me, or did he order my death to save everyone and everything?_

_Am I truly my father's son, that I would ... that I could ... do what must be done?_

Gaara stared from the unconscious child to the medic-nin to the moon-illuminated village beyond the windows. The sand in Gaara's gourd shifted. The cork eased up a fraction, pushed from within by chakra-infused silica.

Perhaps he was his father's son after all. For his village, for his precious people, he would do what must be done. No matter how the deed might shred his soul.

()()()()

()()()()

(1)I don't know how the manga depicts the desert-side access to the village, but some scenes in the anime have stairs leading up to the rift, others do not. I have removed them, since steep stairs would block any type of wheeled transport. It makes little sense to cut the village off in such a way. Goods can be delivered in sealing scrolls but not living things such as food animals. Also, since Suna is the shinobi base for the Land of Wind, they must receive wealthy or politically influential visitors who usually prefer to travel with a large entourage in comfort and style.

(2) This is the same room where Kankuro was treated in the Kazekage Rescue Arc.

**A/N:** I'm not happy with this chapter. There is entirely too much "telling" and not enough "showing." Still, I haven't posted in so long, and the story must continue. I apologize if "information overload" lessens my readers' enjoyment and will try to present better chapter in future.

_**ADDENDUM:**__ JUMPIN' JESOSAPHAT ON A TRICYCLE!_ As of this posting in July 15, 2013, there are 53 reviews, 187 faves, 6 C2's, 275 story alerts, and I'm not sure how many new author alerts! For only two chapters! That's 45% as many faves, 66% as many C2s, and 50% as many alerts as I have for my HP/Bleach xover, "Reign Over the Frosted Heavens," which I've been working on for over TWO YEARS!


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